


Bear-Men

by Scarlet_Cross



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, Tumblr Prompt, idk this isnt as cute as the prompt but I tried, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-02-22 23:55:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlet_Cross/pseuds/Scarlet_Cross
Summary: From the tumblr post by we-are-conjoinedhannigram escaping to a log cabin in the middle of a european forest and wearing plaid all day and letting their scruff grow wild and taking victims from nearby villages every few weeks and basically becoming a terrifying local legend but really they’re just happy cannibalistic boyfriends





	1. Chapter 1

They became the stuff of nightmares. The bedtime story parents told their children to scare them into behaving. Small bodies tucked into bed, wrapped tightly in blankets, listened in horror-stricken awe. Their mother’s voices low and smooth as their father’s hands poked and prodded at the fire making it pop and crackle.

“In the woods there live two man-bears. Their faces wild and bodies long and distorted. They come trudging through the snow with boots made of human skin and clothing pieced together from their kills. They search in the night, sniffing the cold air for the warmth of little bodies. They snatch them up with arms like tree trunks and bring them back to their cave for dinner. The little children’s bones line the walls, licked clean.”

The fire snaps and flares as it fizzles out with the story. The mother moves to each of her children across the bed. Kissing them softly and murmuring words of love and warnings against the woods. Late when the children are blissfully asleep husband and wife talk about the bear-men of the woods again. This time mother lacks the slight smirk on her face she had when talking to the children. Her mouth could cut glass and her words strained.

There had been 5 missing this winter. That was 2 more than last winter and the snow had yet to melt. Their appetite must be growing and the village was shrinking faster and faster. How long before their stories to keep the children out of the woods stopped working?

•••

Abigail felt herself drifting suddenly into consciousness. Her toes and fingers stung with the cold numbness that weighed them. She looked around for something familiar. There were great trees wearing blankets of snow and she could hear the soft gurgle of a creek nearby. Her whole body was wrapped in plush snow and more lazily fell from the sky. She couldn’t remember why she had come to the woods, or where in the woods she was. She saw her brother laying a few meters from her, their rickety, old sled laying in pieces under him. Her head swam as she tried to get to her feet.

How long had they been out here? Her little brother had a cold and he couldn’t be out here for too long or else he’d get more sick. Mother had told them they couldn’t go sledding but they snuck out anyway. She tried again desperately to get up. This time she fought the nausea but as soon as she was standing her knees buckled. She landed face down in the snow in a heap. She resigned herself to crawl to him. She shook him violently when she got there. Loudly crying his name until his eyes cracked open and his mouth let out a hint of what could have been a word. Abigail cried with relief then, burying her face into her brother. His breathing was labored and he felt even colder than she did. Abigail curled up next to him in a snow, hooding her body heat was enough for him to survive.

The two lay in hopeless silence for a time. The sun light was nearly gone and the cold hair stung her lungs before the trees began to tremble. They shed their snow coats as they were disturbed and the voices of men could be heard. Abigail felt a bolt of excitement. Their father and other men from the village had come for them. She shook her brother again. He did not stir. She shook him again. And again. And again. The tears returned to her eyes as the men, two of them, broke through the trees.

The falling night and tears clouded her vision. She could not clearly see the men but she knew they were big. Bigger than her father or any of the other men she knew in the village. They had hair on their faces long and fluffed out and wore clothing that looked like a patchwork quilt. Her body began to shake uncontrollably as they grew nearer. They spoke in quiet voices as they approached her, lifting their tree trunk arms. One laid a gloved hand on her and she fainted again, falling back into the soft snow.

•••

The fire crackled and the air smelt of a savory stew when Abigail woke. Her whole body felt warm as she snuggled back into the bed. Her dream had felt so real and terror so complete. She laughed softly at her imagination, talking her mother’s stories to new heights. She reached out across the bed, searching for her brother's warmth. He would find her dream was quite funny too once she woke him. Her fingers glided across the mattress until they came out on the other side. She moved up and down and even checked the other side of the bed. Her brother was nowhere to be found.

Her eyes snapped open at this realization and sight allowed more realizations to come. This wasn’t her bed. The kettle on the fire wasn’t her mother’s. The hearth wasn’t her family’s. An icy thought struck her: her dream wasn’t a dream.

A rolling lull from another room made itself known as a voice raised itself over the other. Abigail slowly crept out of the bed towards the voices. Her head ached and throbbed and each step she took was just a bit wobbly. This cabin was big, she thought to herself as she navigated the rooms, much bigger than her family home. She had to pass through several rooms to find the source of the noise.

Two men in patchwork clothing with scruffy beards sat at a kitchen table. Abigail felt herself begin to shiver. She was not cold. She shook at the thought of these men. They were real. Her mother’s stories were true. Last night was not a dream.

The two men were talking earnestly and it took a few moments for the one with darker hair to notice her.

“Oh,” he said, halting their conversation. “You’re awake. We weren’t sure when you would be waking up.”

“Would you care for some stew darling?” The fairer hair one asked. “It’s made fresh this morning. Perhaps I could make you some pastry sweets afterwards?”

“Hannibal,” the other one hissed “we should be getting her home.”

“The girl slept all night and most of the day, she must be famished Will.”

“Yes, she needs to eat but we don’t have time for you to be making her sweets-“ Will began before Abigail cut him off.

“You’re the bear-men,” she stated, her voice only shaking a bit.

The two both looked at each other for a moment before Hannibal spoke, “Bear-men?” He said with just a hint of amusement.

“You eat children who go into the woods at night. You lick their bones clean and...and...where is my brother?”

Abigail’s eyes shot to the enormous pot steaming on the stove. A stew, made this morning. She began to cry again. With her eyes closed and head still throbbing she lost her balance. She stated backing up slowly till her back felt a solid wall. She slid down to the floor with palms shoved into her hot eyes. Her sorrow was so complete she didn’t hear the scrap of chairs as the two men crossed the kitchen. Will sat next to her, unsure how to comfort the young girl. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she seemed indifferent to it. He tried again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling himself closer. This time she leaned into him a little. Hannibal crouched in front of the girl, making no movement towards her. He waited until her tears began to slow and her sobs were reduced to choking gasps. He lifted his hand to wipe away a few of the remaining tears clinging to her chin.

At that Abigail peeled her hands from her face. She looked on these men again, their eyes were kindly and smiles soft. Like her mother when she kissed them good night.

“My name is Hannibal. And this is my partner Will.” Hannibal explained. “What is your name?”

“Where is my brother?” Abigail asks again.

Will let out a small sigh, “He froze to death.”

Abigail opened her mouth to speak again but no words came out. What was there to say? Her brother was dead and it was her fault. She was the one who wanted to go sledding and now he was gone.

“We can get you and your brother's body home when this storm dies down.” Hannibal spoke. “This is the worst blizzard we’ve seen in, how long Will?”

“Since we’ve lived here.”

“So let’s get you some food and a warm drink.” Hannibal stood at that.

He extended a hand to help her up. She took it and Will untwisted his arm from around her body. Hannibal pulled Abigail to her feet and Will guided her to a chair. The two men set about in the kitchen to make her a plate. Hannibal immediately went for the stew but Will swat his hand away.

“She’s traumatized enough,” Will whispered. “I doubt she will eat it anyway.”

Hannibal thought for a moment in Will’s words, “Well I’d hate to waste a good bowl.”

Will set him set himself to chopping up some vegetables for a salad. Hannibal made a mug of hot apple cider. They each set their respective creations in front of Abigail and Hannibal made a bowl of stew for the two of them. The three ate in silence as the snow pulled itself higher and higher. When she finished Abigail excused herself and wondered back though the cabin to find her bed again. The two waited until the floorboards stop creaking to begin their conversation again.

“We have to take her back as soon as we can get through the storm.” Will started.

“Well in my medical opinion she needs more time. That bump on her head is rather serious and I want to keep an eye on her,” Hannibal said.

Will snorted, “They have doctors in her village.”

“Not with my experience I could-“ Hannibal tried to explain.

Will cut him off, “We have taken too many this winter. You know that. I know that. Now two children go missing in the woods and we can’t return one of them because it is already missing pieces.”

“You think we will be facing an angry mob if she’s stays,” Hannibal mused.

“Yes, the sooner we get her back the more likely this whole thing can be written off as a fever dream and dumb luck.”

Hannibal let the silence rest. Will took that to be agreement. They both sat quietly pondering how they ended up in this position.

“They’re calling us bear-men,” Hannibal broke the silence.

Will smiled, “Yes and probably telling their children we’ll eat them if they’re naughty.”

Hannibal reached for Will’s hand, taking it in his own. “I for one think you look quite good as a bear-man.”

He leaned in and kissed Will. They both laughed that evening while they were curled up in bed. They were the bear-men of the forest.

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Abigail,” She whispered the next morning when she had finished eating.

Will quirked an eyebrow from across the table. That morning when he and Hannibal had emerged from their room they found the small girl already there. She had been sitting at the table playing absently with the salt and pepper shakers. Will sat down next to her and took the shaker she was not currently holding and began to play with her. Hannibal listened to them _click-clack_ the ceramic across the table and make nonsense sounds only children at play understand. He set to cooking breakfast: eggs, sausage, and pancakes. His cooking lacked much of the extravange and flare he was accustomed to in his former life, but the ingredients were still the same. Cooking was still cooking.

“Abigail, it is very nice to meet you,” Hannibal said. He extended his hand to shake and she took it gingerly.

Standing from the table Will took both his and Hannibal’s empty plates. He looked to Abigail’s, licked clean except for the sausages. The meat sat untouched on her plate and she did not protest when he picked up her’s as well. The dishes clinked softly as he set them down in the sink. From the table, Abigail downed the last sip of her milk and brough the glass over.

“I can help you clean them.” She offered putting it in the sink.

Will hesitated for a moment, “There’s not much to clean but if you want to help Hannibal, I think it’s his turn to bring in firewood.”

Hannibal smirked at the clever redirection, “Yes, as my husband has reminded me it is my third turn in a row to bring in wood. I would love your help Abigail.”

She shook her head “yes” to indicate this was fair trade to her.

“Wonderful,” He stood from his seat still at the table. “You can borrow an extra coat since the storm is still going on rather strongly.”

**…**

After spending so many years with Hannibal the foot falls of everyone else was like thunder. His silent tread could pad across any surface smooth as velvet and Will had devoted a large amount of unconscious brain power to tune his hearing to detect it. That is why when Abigail attempted to sneak up on him he had to disappoint her by not startling. He sat with his back to the barn door milking their one of their two cows. He stood with the full bucket to face her and a few chickens scuttled about him hoping he had food to give them.

“The storm is over,” She said simply.

“Yes it is.”

“When will you take me home?” She asked more pointedly.

She looked up at him still wearing the oversized patchwork jacket Hannibal had leant her a week ago. The storm had indeed passed late last night and they has all woken up to clear blue skies this morning. They both made their way back to the cabin, wading through the waste deep snow on the way. Will could see a few of his dogs trudging and frolecking through the snow around them as well. The canines happy to be out of the house and barn.

“Do you see how deep the snow is here?” Will asked.

“Yes,” Abigail struggled through the snow herself, it rose to almost her shoulders.

“This is probably pretty shallow for a snow bank,” Will began as they made it to the door finally. “Imagine how hard it would be to get to your village if the snow was up to here.” He lifted his hand up to his shoulders, the same place the snow had been upto on Abigail.

The small girl shivered at the thought of swimming though snow. She enjoyed swimming in the summer with her siblings in the lake outside their village. But doing it in snow would be like diving into ice water.

“That would not be fun,” She concluded.

Will smiled, “No it would not.”

He carefully poured his pail of milk into the cleaned glass bottles he and Hannibal used as milk jugs and slid them into the refrigerator. When he pulled his head out Abigail looked absolutely devastated.

“Don’t worry,” his mind was racing for things to say so she didn’t looks so downtrodden. “When it melts enough we all go, just like we promised.”

Her face brightened “Will you read to me again?” she asked.

“Yes, of course.” He said, picking the book up from the counter where he left it.

**...**

“Follow my finger with your eyes,” Hannibal instructed.

Abigail did as he was told, following his index finger up and down, left and right. She sat with her legs dangling off the doctor’s desk. Or at least he said he was a doctor. Abigail wasn’t sure she believed him, he wasn’t like any of the other doctor’s in her village. They were all kind and smelt a little wired. Hannibal was… stange. She couldn’t say he wasn’t kind because that was all he had ever been to her. But he was still a bear-man. There was a coldness to him she didn’t quite understand. She could see it in the corners of her vision. When he wasn’t with his husband or talking to her, when he thought no one was watching. It leaked out of him like a draft disturbing the warmth of a fireplace.

“All your motor skills and pupil dilation are working in perfect condition. Tell me Abigail, have you been having any headaches?” He asked.

The girl thought about it was a moment, “No,” She finally replied.

“Then that is good, you appear to have made a full recovery,” He returned to sit behind his desk.

The hardwood floors in the office were cold on Abigail’s feet when she slid off the desk. A stack of papers fluttered to the floor as her oversized coat dragged them off the desk. She muttered quick apologies as she began to furiously pick them up. Sheet, after sheet, after sheet she grabbed of thick paper. Her movements slowed as she felt the texture and weight of the thick paper. None of the paper in her parent’s home had ever been like this. She flipped the piece that was currently in her hand’s over and gasped. On it was drawing so life-like she could feel the heat of the fireplace radiate from it. Her eyes soaked up every mark as she digested the picture they all made together. It was Will, asleep in his chair in front of the fireplace, a dog asleep as well in his lap.

“In my youth I would sit in museums for hour on end to copy the works of great masters.” Hannibal said, pulling her from her trance.

“It’s beautiful,” She said. And as she look all around her every sheet of paper contained one beautiful drawing after the next. Some had their dogs and other animals, others had depictions of the forest of mountains surrounding them, but most of them featured Will. “They’re all beautiful.”

Hannibal allowed himself to smile at that. It had been a long time he had received compliments on his artwork. Much longer still since they came with such sincerity as a child in true wonder.

“I could teach you if you liked,” He offered. “But I can not guarantee how much success you’ll have. I’ve spent decades drawing and you would only be under my tutelage until the snow melts enough for travel.”

“I want to. I want to learn,” She said earnestly.

“Very well,” Hannibal made his way back around the desk.

He pulled up a spare chair for Abigail to sit at and a fresh sheet of paper to work on. The young girl managed a glimpsed of the piece Hannibal was currently working on before he tucked it out of the way and into his desk. It was a portrait of a young girl looking off into the distance. It was rough and only half finished but it was undeniably her.

**…**

The gentle scrape of the soft carpet on her belly and rolling waves of heat had nearly lulled Abigail to sleep. A cold nose and wet tongue licking at her cheek jolted her back into alertness. She allowed herself a small giggle as she patted the dog on its head. The fluffy beast plopped itself down besides her and curled up against her. Abigail searched around on the carpet, feeling for her pencil in the dying light of the hearth. When she finally found it she returned to her drawing. It was rough, nowhere near as smooth as Hannibal’s, but she was making progress. She was attempting to copy Hannibal’s work, much like he did when he was younger. The picture of Will asleep in front of the fireplace sat in front of her. A quick glance behind her revealed the same thing: Will dozing in his chair with a dog in his lap.

The back door slammed quietly as Hannibal made his reappearance. He carried with him an armful of logs. The dying flames of the fire sprang back to life as he put another log on the fire. They curled greedily around the fresh fuel as Hannibal set the rest of the stack down. Will blinked and stirred at the noise, and dog in his lap whined as his movements.

“I’m not the one who chose to fall asleep right there Winston.” Will muttered to the pooch.

“Dinner, is just about ready,” Hannibal said taking off his coat.

All three made their way to the kitchen followed by half of the dogs. Both Will and Abigail sat at the table as Hannibal made steaming plates. Tonight he had made a roast with savory mashed potatoes and peas and carrots to add some color to the dish. As usual, he treated each plate like an artwork; he still had yet to tire of seeing Abigail’s face light up at his simple artesty. They all chatted as they ate. Will talked about how he had spent nearly three hours tracking down one of the dogs that had run off chasing a fox. Hannibal talked about the progress he was making in the latest book he was writing. Abigail explained all the things she had tried to draw that day. Will smiled and complemented something about each picture she showed them while Hannibal offered constructive criticism and remarked how quickly she was improving. By the end of dinner all three sat with clean plates. Dinner tonight was the first time Abigail had dared to eat any of the meat served to her, much to Will’s surprise and Hannibal’s delight.

“Today when I was out chasing Applesauce I noticed to snow seems to have melted quite a bit.” Will casually threw out.

“Mmmm?” Abigail barely heard him, she was trying to hide the fact she was letting the dogs lick meat juice off her fingers.

“We could probably take you home tomorrow,” Will’s statement was more blunt this time.

“That might be a little rash Will. It’s a long journey and there are still plenty of places there is deep enough to be up to Abigail’s head-” Hannibal began.

“We’ve made trips to her village under worse conditions for your desires,” Will shot at him with a point glare.

“I can go home tomorrow?” Abigail questioned.

Will continued to eye Hannibal as he spoke, “We would need to leave very early in the morning, but, yes I think we could go tomorrow.”

 

The next morning all three were out the door and well on their way to Abigail’s village by the time the sun rose. Abigail’s borrowed coat, but by this time the coat was just _her_ coat, dragged across the snow. Her boots sunk into the snow up to her knees at most places, but in a few spots Will or Hannibal need picked her up and carry her for a dozen meters or so to get through a deep spot. The sun had just began its descent back down to the horizon when Abigail could see the outlines of houses. She giggled gleefully and galloped ahead of the two men towards the village.

A house on the outskirts of the village was where Abigail directed the group. There was a shabby fence holding in half a dozen cattle and a hen house huddle up against the rear of the house. It was rather unremarkable in Hannibal’s opinion. A man was outside tending to the cattle.

“Papa!” Abigail cried.

Again she ran off ahead of the men towards the man who must be her father. Both of them paused as the man looked up to see the little girl skip-running through the snow as fast as she could. Will wasn’t expecting it, but seeing Abigail hug her father hit him like a sucker punch to the gut. He shared a questioning glance with Hannibal, neither of them were sure how much long they should stay. Neither wanted to answer particular questions or risk meeting someone who recognized them or was smart enough to put two and two together.

They had just turned to leave when an abrupt shriek broke the winter silence. Will whipped around to see Abigail on the ground, blood coming from her mouth. First he felt her fear and terror. This man who was her father and supposed to love and protect her had stuck her to the ground. Then he felt his own rage bubbling up to the surface. Lately he saw Hannibal at his side and despite his cool exterior he felt his husband’s rage. It was extremely rude to hit a child, even if they were your child.

The couple made their way down the rest of the hill towards Abigail and her father. The frenzy of the man became more apparent the closer they got. He yelled curses and insults at Abigail, threatening to hit her again. Did she have any idea how long she was gone? Where was her brother? Everyone thought she was dead!

“Excuse me sir,” Hannibal interrupted.

The man looked up, noticing the two for the first time. He abandoned Abigail in favor of storming towards the two new men. “Are you two the bastards who were keeping her? Where is my son? Did you kill him?”

“We did nothing of the sort,” Hannibal lied smoothly.

Realization dawned on he man. “I know you two. You ate my brother three winter’s ago.”

“You must have us mistaken with someone else, my husband and I have never met you before.” Will tried to calm the man. He was beginning to yell now and the last thing they needed was neighbors hearing.

“You bastards ate my brother and my son,”

The man pulled a knife from his belt and moved to stab Will with it. He never got that far though. Hannibal grabbed his arm with ease, pulling it to the side and slitting his throat with one fluid motion. Blood sprayed hot and heavy across them and stained the snow at their feet. Hannibal released his wrist and the man fell to the ground grasping in vain at his throat.

“He was being terribly rude,” Hannibal explained when Will gave him a mildly annoyed look.

Will stepped over the convulsing body to pick up Abigail. He held her close to his chest like a newborn. She immediately curled into him, tears mixing with her father’s blood. Hannibal wiped his blade clean on the trousers of the dead man before tucking it away again. The three set off back into the woods, back home.


	3. Chapter 3

The bow was pulled taunt as she looked through her crosshairs. Will had an old shotgun back at the house, but the bow was Hannibal’s prefered hunting weapon. He had spend the rest of the winter teaching her how to use it and honing her skills with target practice. Now it was spring, new life was blooming everywhere. Abigail and Hannibal had walked through the velvetity forest undergrowth all morning and well into the afternoon looking for prey. Now they sat crouched behind a felled tree, prey in sight.

“Steady your breathing,” Hannibal coaxed. “You are a proficient marksman. This shot should be easy for you.”

She did as she was told and took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She was ready now.

Everything moved in slow motion when she released the bow. She could feel the small _woosh_ of the feathered tail grace her cheek. The strong vibrations of tension released echoed throughout the bow. She saw the arrow head disappear into the creature’s flesh and watch as a slow trickle of blood flowed from around the arrow’s shaft.

Hannibal patted her on the back with a smile, “Good shot my dear.”

The pair rose from their spot and made their way towards the young deer laying incapacitated on the ground. It’s breaths were labored as it tried and failed to get up and run as they approached. The arrow bobbed up and down with each breath the animal took. Abigail knew she had aimed the arrow to pierce both of the animal’s lungs. Hannibal had spent a great deal of time teaching her the finer points of anatomy and where best to strike for a kill. The man crouched down next to the deer and produced a shining blade. He offered it to Abigail. She took it without hesitation, but as she knelt next to the man her hand wavered.

“You do not want it to suffer,” He chided. “You were fine shooting it with an arrow.”

“This is different,” She started. “I was so far away then. Now… It’s so close.”

Hannibal took her lowered chin in his hand and pulled it up so her gaze could meet his. “This animal was dead the moment it entered your crosshares. Now you are being merciful and offering it a clean death to end it’s pain.”

The knife slowly made its way down to the creature’s neck almost without Abigail’s knowledge. She could probably kill it without thinking, like a waking dream. Except, Hannibal sat next to her, eyes urging her to say present. The knife was her hand. It was her kill. She knew what she was doing. The knife sliced through the thick fur and skin like butter. Blood poured out from the gash like a waterfall onto to the small green sprouts of grass. She stood and pulled the arrow from the deer’s chest. She cleaned it before sliding it back into her quiver. She also cleaned the knife Hannibal had given her and offered it back to him.

“No my dear,” He said hefting the young deer onto his shoulders to carry home. “It’s yours now. Keep it.”

**…**

The water bubbled and laughed as it rushed past Abigail. She stood knee deep with Will in the middle of a creek. The water was cool, but welcome; the summer heat was sweltering. They had been out in the creek for nearly an hour fishing in the current, catching a few trout here and there. As soon as it had been warm enough Will had begun to teach Abigail to fly fish. In Will’s hands the rod glided through the air with grace and power. Initially Abigail thought she could never maneuver with such coordination, but Will spoke in a soft tone gently molding her hands and body to move like his. They both stood in silence now, comfortable and well versed in their actions.

“Did I ever eat him?” Her voice was soft, almost lost in the clicking of tackle equipment and running water.

Will paused mid cast, a hiccup in his perfect fatherly persona. “Yes,” He said after a moment of consideration.

“Good,” Abigail let her rod fly again. “Papa always said the best way to honor what you kill is to eat it. All of it. I’m glad we honored my brother.”

Will could see from the corner of his eye that she was smiling. It made him smile. He watched as Abigail pulled in her line with another trout flaling and fighting to get free. She wrangled the fish effortlessly, it would take much more fight to keep Abigail from finishing off her prey.

**…**

The first flecks of snow had begun to fall when her prey wandered into the clearing. Her breaths came out in thin clouds on the sharp air from her perch high up in an evergreen tree. In morning before they began the hunt Will had helped her smear dirt and mud on her patchwork coat. _Their noses are not keen,_ he had said, _but their eyes are sharp._ The wide coak of needled branches hid her movement as she drew back on the bow. An arrow nocked and the point aimed just below the center of the chest. She couldn’t see them, but she knew Hannibal and Will were perched in trees just like her. With their respective weapons trained on the prey as well, waiting for her shot. Her kill. She took a steadying breath in and on the exhale she loosed the arrow.

_They were dead the moment they entered my crosshares._

The arrow implanted itself in the man’s chest, piercing his right lung just like she planned.

_Now I am being merciful and offering him a clean death to end his pain._

She began her quick descent from the tree when another arrow appeared in the man’s left knee, Hannibal immobilizing the man for her. Her feet hit the cold, packed earth moments before Will’s did. The man’s cries of pain were quiet but intense, every last atom of his being fighting to stay alive. That was what Abigail loved most about hunting, seeing the strongest of all natural desires: to stay alive.

His hair was greasy and matted as she slid her fingers into it. She raised his head just barely off the ground, only enough to slide it into into her lap. The shock of it all must have been setting in then, his struggles were only weak jerks. All she needed was to settle her palm on his forehead to steady him enough to cleanly drag the knife across his neck. A red ribbon of blood blossomed in the blade’s trail, spilling over his skin and down onto her trousers.

The butt of Will’s shotgun planted itself next to Abigail’s thigh, “Very good,” He praised.

“You’re skill are improving,” Hannibal commented.

“Practice makes perfect,” Abigail preened.

“Perhaps next time you could try for the eye,” Hannibal suggested. “Then you wouldn’t need to dirty your clothes with every kill.”

“You just want the meat intacted better,” Will scoffed.

Abigail giggled as she got to her feet, “I’ll try for the eye next time, now will you help me carry him? I’m hungry.”


End file.
